


Lose to win

by Nival_Vixen



Series: Prompts 2020 [3]
Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Archery, Awkward Flirting, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Complete, Dead Steve, Deaf Clint Barton, Disability, Disney References, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Idiots in Love, Innocent James "Bucky" Barnes, M/M, Marvel 616 References, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Pizza, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26436883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: Steve's will states that James "Bucky" Barnes should be the next Captain America.Clint doesn't think he's good enough for the role, and turns up at his apartment to tell him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Prompts 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921621
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	Lose to win

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samari1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samari1/gifts).



> Ship: James/Clint.  
> Prompt: Deaf Clint, so comic (616) one. No freaking family on the farm in Iowa. Clint shows up to tell James he doesn’t think he’ll cut it as Cap and both are all omfg he’s hot! Clint all hot mess that he is and James thinks he’s fucking adorable. So awkwardness everywhere. James is tired of being alone and wants Clint. Clint knows he’s a hot mess and has a horrible relationship track record. Happily ever after or at least them together by the end

The day of Steve's funeral was bright and sunny, which went against the feelings of those gathered at the funeral service, but Mother Nature never cared about people's feelings in the first place. Steve Rogers, aka, Captain America, was dead and not coming back this time. Tony was still in shock, and the other Avengers were no better. Nat was standing in the back, her eyes dry but her face looked like someone had pulled a rug out from under her. Pepper was crying, Sam looked nauseous, and Bruce was still pacing outside of the funeral place as though he couldn't bring himself to walk inside and make it real. Clint glanced over at Fury and Hill, Coulson standing beside them and looking like his inner child had died along with Steve. Hell, maybe he had. Thor was there beside them, sobbing into a handkerchief in what looked to be a loud way, especially since the priest kept glancing over to him every so often.

Personally, Clint wasn't sure how he felt about the Cap's death. He respected him as a fighter and Avenger, but he hadn't always been able to agree with his "I can save everyone" attitude, and his feelings were conflicted about the man's death. Steve had been trying to talk to Doctor Doom and convince him not to blow up a building. Doctor Doom had ignored him and blown up the building anyway. _Sometimes people couldn't be talked down, some people refused to stop, some didn't deserve to be saved_. Steve never seemed to get that, but Clint knew it all too well.

He didn't turn his hearing aids back on - funerals were always the same: _great man, people left behind, better place, God's plan_ , all of the usual bullshit ( _and was it ironic that a god was actually present at Steve's funeral, and certainly not the one the priest referred to?_ ) - until the whole charade was over. He followed the crowd out, then kept his eye on Fury's head (the sun made it easy to spot him, even without Clint's height) to follow the Director over to a car. Nat was beside him by the time they arrived at the car, Fury not bothering to argue as they sat in the car with him. Once they were seated, Clint turned his hearing aids back on.

"We lost a good man, but it's not the end of Captain America; it can't be," Fury added firmly.

Nat nodded like she expected nothing different. Clint just waited. He didn't know what he'd say or do if Fury offered the Cap's shield and uniform to him. _Would he be a good Captain America? Could he be?_

"Steve's will requested who should take over the mantel in the event of his death," Fury said.

_Maybe it would be Sam. Sam would be a good Captain America; he knew that not everyone could be saved, but he'd try anyway. Probably not to the point where his head was forcibly exploded from the rest of his body, but he'd be a good Cap_.

"He requested Sergeant Bucky Barnes," Fury said.

_What?!_

...

James couldn't get drunk, thanks to the shitty serum that kept him alive and his metabolism too high to even get the liquor into his liver, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try so very damn hard to get drunk. Vodka was like water, whisky was like air, bourbon was a breath. _Nothing worked. Fuck_.

His doorbell rang when he was going for the fruity liquor drinks in neon colours as a last ditch attempt, and James' hand stilled at the sound. _Who the fuck was at his apartment today of all days? Fury called before he arrived, so it probably wasn't him. Had someone else found him?_

Doom had blown himself up along with Steve, so it wasn't him. The Avengers recruiting agents had been forcibly removed from his apartment enough times to get the hint, so he doubted it would be them, either. Closing his fridge door with a slam, James headed over to the door, glancing through the peephole.

_A pizza delivery guy? He hadn't ordered pizza_.

"You've got the wrong address, guy."

"No, I don't think I do, Bucky."

James opened the door, a gun pointed at the guy's face. "Who sent you?"

A cute frown appeared on the guy's face, his nose wrinkling beneath a bright purple plaster. "Uh, no one?"

"How do you know my name?"

"Uh, it's kinda common knowledge that Steve's best friend is James "Bucky" Barnes. You saw the museum exhibit, right? So, can I come in? This pizza's hot."

James blinked. "What?"

"Funeral wakes have shitty food, I got hungry on the way over here, and it's burning my fingers. I need my fingers."

James didn't know what to do; the pizza delivery getup was apparently not a getup, but that didn't mean the guy wasn't going to try to kill him.

"I'll share the pizza if you let me in," Clint cajoled, opening the pizza box lid and waving the cheese pizza invitingly.

_Pizza actually sounded pretty damn good._

...

Clint had planned on telling Bucky he wasn't fit to be Captain America. Sure, he hadn't actually seen Bucky in action, unless the Winter Soldier counted, but he knew he wasn't Steve. He'd planned on saying all of that as soon as the door had opened, intent on getting his words in before he was shot in the face, but he'd faltered. Bucky was hotter in person than the museum exhibit picture showed, and that just wasn't fair. _He'd already been freaking hot in the museum exhibition pictures, and then being_ ** _extra hot_** _in person? What kind of person did that?! It was unfair and Clint wanted a rematch. Or something_.

Bucky thankfully opened the door and let him in - though he didn't lower the gun - and Clint set the pizza box on the bench, blowing on his fingers. _Ouch, fuck_.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asked, closing the door with his metal hand while his other still held the gun pointed at Clint's face.

"Uhhh... Did you want pizza or?" he trailed off, not wanting to admit he'd come to rag out Bucky just yet.

"Explain. Now."

Clint scratched the back of his head hesitantly, thinking of some way to stall being shot - this was a bad idea, and he knew it now, but hindsight was a bitch - and saw the various empty bottles of alcohol strewn across the kitchen. "Taking up recycling or did you make a giant mixer?" he asked curiously. "That would taste disgusting, by the way," Clint said, wrinkling his nose at the thought of mixing the various spirits and alcohol together.

"Doesn't matter. Talk."

Clint closed the pizza box lid - no point in letting the pizza go cold - and decided to rip it off like a plaster: the faster the better. "Idon'tthinkyoushouldbeCaptainAmerica," he said, then ducked down low so he wouldn't be shot.

Bucky frowned deeply. "What?"

"You shouldn't be Captain America. You're not Steve."

"No one's Steve, not anymore," Bucky muttered, and his hand holding the gun finally lowered by his side. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, setting the gun down. "Who're you with? SHIELD, CIA, FBI, KGB?"

"That's a lot of acronyms. SHIELD and Avengers. You don't recognise me?" Clint asked curiously.

He should probably stand up again. The floor seemed safe at the moment, but the pizza was up there. Aww, pizza, no.

"I try not to pay attention to idiots running around in lycra."

"Hey, it's leather. Well, a leather compound mixed with - y'know what, it doesn't matter. It's comfortable and makes running around easier."

Bucky snorted. "Not arguing the 'idiot' part?"

Clint opened and closed his mouth, pointed at Bucky, then muttered and forced himself to stand up. "Shut up and eat the pizza or I'm taking it with me," he said, taking a slice of pizza and chewing it loudly, or maybe it was loud because of his hearing aids.

"So what's your name?" Bucky asked, reaching for a slice of pizza.

"Oh. I'm Clint. Uh, Hawkeye," he added, just in case he recognised his Avengers name anyway.

"Is that why your plasters have purple targets on them?"

"I get them for free," Clint said, shrugging as he took another slice, one of the aforementioned plasters wrapped around several of his fingers - no one ever said how dangerous doing paperwork was.

Bucky took another slice of pizza as he considered Clint's response, then figured he'd probably use something if he got it for free, too. "I'm James."

_Oops, he'd been calling him by the wrong name._

"Nice to meet you, James. Get your hand off my pizza slice," Clint said, smacking James' metal hand away from the slice he'd been eyeing off for the last three minutes.

...

James couldn't get drunk, but Clint could. Or maybe it was a result of the fruity alcohol pops that were apparently stronger than the vodka and whisky combined. Even he felt buzzed after one of those things, though it could have been the sugar content, too. Either way, James had refused to let Clint leave while he was drunk and Clint was too tall for the lounge, so James had offered his bed.

Clint had grinned at him, slow and burning, and James didn't know why his flight or fight instinct was rearing its head then, much less why he wanted to fly instead of fight, but before Clint could say or do anything else, he'd stood and run for the bathroom.

_Was it weird that James still thought Clint was cute, even when he was hurling his guts up? Maybe he could get drunk, after all, 'cause that was weird_.

He'd given Clint some water and led him to his bed, his cheeks pink at the sight of Clint splayed out diagonally across his bed - _even the bed was too small for him, and it was a queen-size!_ \- and left the room like someone was trying to murder him: aka, quickly.

James had had a fitful sleep thanks to the presence of a stranger in his apartment, half of him listening out in case Clint was sick again, and the other half itching for a knife or weapon in case this whole thing was a ruse. _If Clint didn't like the idea of him being Captain America, just how far would he go to make sure it didn't happen?_ Though, considering he'd seen Clint walk into several pieces of furniture and a wall, James wasn't entirely sure he'd have a contest when it came to beating the Avenger. _How the hell did someone as clumsy as Clint become an Avenger, anyway? Didn't they have to do training or pass some sort of tests, or at the very least, have hand-eye coordination?_

The thought plagued him for far longer than it should have, to the point where James got his phone to look at YouTube videos of Hawkeye. Hawkeye training videos would have made anyone want to take up archery, just to watch those shoulder muscles and forearms and biceps at work. James had to pause the five-minute video far too many times just so he could pace and work out what he was feeling. Lust was a pretty big thing he was feeling, even after spending the evening talking to an increasingly drunker Clint.

Clint had started off cute and ended the night adorable, arguing about Disney's Robin Hood and how he'd posed as a disabled fox, only to reveal he was abled and so-called 'normal'. James hadn't known what to say or do, except promise to never watch Robin Hood, which then made Clint cry because he'd never seen Robin Hood. James had felt lust even before the training videos, he could admit that, but there were other feelings, too.

_Whoever filmed the videos needed to be shot_ , James decided, as right at the four-minute-and-fifty-five second mark, they zoomed in on Clint's ass.

He definitely wasn't getting to sleep now.

...

Clint woke up, his head aching and his ears aching. His hands were aching, too. In fact, all of him was in a low level aching pain range that was above the normal pain range for him, and Clint groaned as he tried to remember what he'd done the night before.

_He remembered ranting about Robin Hood and then crying about Robin Hood, so, what? A normal Saturday night for him and... wait, this wasn't his room._

His room was mostly spartan because money management was a skill that people who weren't him had, but this looked spartan in the kind of military style that meant they could leave at a moment's notice. Plus, the distinct lack of purple comforter kind of clued him in. Even Lucky usually just slept on the fluffy blanket, he didn't take it out of the room entirely. The thought of his dog made him realise he hadn't gone home last night, and Lucky was probably eating his shoes in retaliation. Clint hoped it was those fancy Italian loafers that Nat had made him buy for the Avengers charity event; those things pinched his toes.

Noise from outside of the bedroom made Clint realise why his ears hurt: he'd left his hearing aids in overnight, _ouch_. It also made him realise he wasn't alone. _What had he done? Or, more specifically, who had he done? Would someone have sex with him after ranting about Disney? His ex-wife and ex-partners would all probably say no. He had valid claims about the ableism and was passionate about demonstrating that to kids, okay?_ It was the only reason he'd agreed to let Nat record those training videos; he hadn't wanted little deaf kids out there thinking they couldn't be an Avenger or a hero like him. _No super serum required, not like Steve._

_Oh, fuck. Steve was dead. His funeral had been the day before, his best friend hadn't turned up, and Clint had been so incensed about Bucky - James - being the next Captain America that he'd broken into a SHIELD facility, found his address, and come to tell him that. After getting a pizza, of course._

He remembered the gorgeous guy who'd answered the door, even with the gun in his face, and _oh no_. _He hadn't slept with James, had he? His clothes were still on, no awkward and sticky uncomfortable ejaculate in his pants, so if he had, it probably hadn't been very good. No, wait, he remembered puking his guts up. Yeah, he was never getting laid_.

Clint groaned and buried his head in his hands. He'd ranted about Disney to the gorgeous guy and puked in front of him, and now James probably thought he was weird and gross. _He couldn't get past weird_ ** _and_** _gross; weird, maybe, if he came across cute and eccentric, but gross? There was no coming back from that! All the gods damn it._ He wondered if Thor could actually damn things. _Was that possible? How did a god curse and swear, anyway?_ ** _Fuck_** _seemed pretty universal, right?_

"Clint? Are you okay?"

Clint looked over at James, feeling crusty and gross, and James was freshly showered and looked clean and put together and everything he wasn't. _Super serum made everyone pretty and he was a lanky and awkward giant._

"No. My head hurts."

"I bought Advil. And, like, four other brands of paracetamol. I didn't know if you had any allergies or preferences," James said, holding up a bag with various boxes inside. His other hand held a glass of water, and he set both on the bedside table next to Clint.

"Thanks. You... you didn't have to do that," Clint said, frowning at the water and pills - there were more than four kinds in there.

James shrugged, his cheeks pink. "Had to do something. Do you want food? I have bread for toast?" he offered.

Clint, already swallowing down four of the paracetamol tablets, almost choked at the reminder of food; Lucky. "Crap, I have to go. I'm so late; Lucky's going to kill me."

"Oh. Okay. Uh, bye," James said to Clint's retreating back, the door already closed behind him.

...

" _Oh. Okay. Uh, bye,_ " James mocked himself, groaning and wishing he could forget those four stupid words. He was an idiot and Clint was probably laughing at him. Whoever Lucky was, they were probably laughing, too.

His phone rang and James was hopeful for the whole of two seconds before he realised he hadn't even given Clint his number. _Not like he would've taken it, anyway. Clint had Lucky_ , James reminded himself forcibly.

"Fury, what do you want?"

"Good morning to you, too, Barnes," Fury replied drily.

James wasn't in the mood for his bullshit and just waited silently.

"One of _those_ days, huh? I was expecting to see you yesterday," Fury added, not trying to guilt James for not going to Steve's funeral, but achieving it anyway.

James swallowed hard at the reminder, his head aching, and he forced himself to relax his jaw and fists. "I couldn't."

Fury was silent for a moment. "I know, James. How about I come over and visit? I've got a proposition for you."

"I'm not doing it, Fury. I can't be Captain America. That was Steve, not me. Besides, what are they going to call me? I can't answer to Captain America," James said with a wince.

Fury frowned. "How did you... You know what, I'm coming over anyway, and we're going to talk about that bullshit."

James didn't get a chance to argue as Fury ended the call. He might not be able to argue, but that didn't mean he had to make this easy for the SHIELD Director. Grabbing his hat, jacket, and a backpack, James left his apartment, not intending on returning for the rest of the day.

...

Lucky had eaten his favourite sneakers and completely bypassed the Italian loafers.

"Traitor," Clint muttered, even as he dished out Lucky's dog food into a bowl. "And I didn't get to have breakfast with the cute guy. Totally your fault," he added, pointing the scoop at Lucky.

Lucky sat up straighter, his eye tracking the scoop carefully.

Clint looked at Lucky, then snorted and threw the scoop to his other hand, holding it out and laughing as Lucky followed the scoop's trajectory the whole time. "Can you wear an eye patch? Dogs have those pirate outfits, don't they? Y'know, the ones with the parrots on the shoulder? Holy crap, I'm so buying you one of those for Halloween. Do you think it comes with the hat or is that a separate purchase? Probably separate. I don't care, I'll pay whatever it is, even if it's five whole dollars! You... you're not even listening to me," he said with a glare.

Lucky, who had started licking the scoop by Clint's side, sat back again and looked up at him innocently.

"If you're going to be a pirate, what should I be?" Clint asked, scooping out another lot of food and setting the bowl down.

Lucky was busy eating and didn't respond. _Rude_.

Clint's phone flashed in purple and he saw a text message from Nat.

Nat: _new training video needed; get your ass over here already_

"I'm going out, Luck. I'll be back later tonight, 'kay? I promise this time," Clint called.

Lucky was still busy and still didn't respond. _Double rude_.

...

James figured if Fury was going to meet him at his apartment, that meant that Fury wouldn't be at any of the SHIELD training locations. He didn't have to sneak in since he'd been given a fancy badge to access any of the sites, but there were enough people staring at him in surprise that made James wish he'd snuck in after all.

Seeing a familiar flash of red hair, James made himself relax at the sight of Natalia and headed in her direction. She was recording something on her phone, and as James approached, he realised that he recognised that ass.

_God damn it, he shouldn't be able to recognise someone by their ass, especially not Clint._

"Like what you see?" Nat asked, grinning as she looked over at James and saw him staring at Clint.

James' cheeks turned pink and he looked up quickly. "Shut up," he hissed at her.

"He doesn't understand Russian," Nat said, patting James' shoulder. "Hawkeye, have you met my friend? He's going to be the new Captain America," she said, grinning again and turning the phone towards him. "Oh, don't look at me like that, I'll edit it out before I post it online; I'm not an idiot."

James refused to look at Clint in those tight pants and tight shirt and the forearms and - _wait, Natalia posted the videos?_ "You're the one who posted the videos?"

Nat raised an eyebrow at his tone. "I know how to use technology, unlike some fossils around here."

"No, that's not... I have a smartphone, too, damn it."

"Oh, good. You can keep recording Clint's video then, can't you?" Nat asked pleasantly, putting her phone in his hands. "I'm getting lunch; I'll bring you two food, too," she said, leaving without waiting for a response.

"Uh, what the hell just happened? How do you know Nat?" Clint asked curiously, not even looking at the target and somehow still hitting the bullseye.

_Great, now he could see his muscles and arms and his face at the same time. How dare he look that good when James was trying not to be a relationship wrecker?!_

"Uh, did you see Lucky?"

"Yeah, I did. He only ate one sneaker, but the other one is thoroughly destroyed," Clint said with a pout. "Hey, you going to keep recording or what?"

"Uh, oh. Yeah, sure."

_Great, another four words he'd have to hate himself for later._

"So... Lucky's a dog?"

_Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes._

Clint snorted and took another shot without looking, grinning when he heard it hit the bell on the bullseye. "Yeah, and a canine garbage disposal, too."

James felt such utter relief that he almost missed the utter embarrassment on realising that he'd been jealous of a dog. _Fuck his life._

"What are you doing at the SHIELD training facility anyway? I didn't know you were SHIELD," Clint asked, finally stopping his shooting to face James properly.

"I'm not. Well, not officially. I have a badge, but they let me choose my jobs, and I haven't... well, I haven't actually chosen any yet."

"They're paying you to do nothing?" Clint asked, whistling. "Swap jobs with me?" he asked with a grin.

"I don't think I can use the bow... oh, joke. Right, I got it," James said quickly, hoping to reassure Clint that he wasn't an idiot who didn't get jokes.

Clint raised an eyebrow - obviously a skill he learnt from Natasha, since he had the same disapproving arch that she did - then shook his head, tapping his hearing aids. "Did I hear you right or did you just say you can't use a bow and arrow?"

James looked from Clint to his metal arm and back. "Pretty sure I can't."

"And what did I say about Robin Hood and albeism?"

James frowned. "I honestly don't remember much; it was slurred and then you started crying."

Clint groaned and rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll say it again now that I'm not drunk. Hey, point that thing at me so Nat can put it online later, yeah?" he said, nodding to the forgotten phone in James' hand. He coughed and straightened up. "Don't let your disabilities stop you from doing what you want to do. I'm deaf and an Avenger, and my friend here has one arm and is Captain America. If we can be Avengers, then you can do anything you set your mind to!"

_It should be cheesy and cliche, but somehow, it wasn't_. James could see the passion and belief Clint had; he truly believed in what he was saying. He stopped recording for a moment, silence hanging between them.

James remembered Hawkeye's tagline - I never miss - and looked at the bow and arrow and targets. "So, you never miss?"

"Never," Clint confirmed with a grin.

"Want to make a bet?" James asked.

Clint narrowed his eyes. "What kind of bet?"

_Oh god, this could be a bad decision._

"If you hit a target I set up, you win. If you don't hit it, I win."

"Hmm, I'm doing all the work in this bet. What do you win?"

_Breathe, Barnes. You can do this._

"A date. With you."

Clint's jaw dropped at James' response, then he recovered and swallowed hard. "Like, a training to be an Avenger kind of date?"

"No, the dinner kind. With conversation and food and... uh, possibly other things," James said, his cheeks pink again.

"If you mean crying, then it'll be our second date," Clint said with a grin.

James snorted and shook his head. "Not what I meant, but if last night counted as a date for you, then I'll take it."

Clint shook his head. "Please, no. I prefer first dates where I don't cry over animated movies, though, the second date onward are free game. Oh, and I'll do the bet."

"What if you win?" James asked.

"A third date."

"Third? So... we have to go on a second to reach the third?" James asked, hope filling his chest.

"Exactly," Clint said with a broad grin.

"Damn, you're good. Can I change mine?"

Clint laughed. "Go set up your target, Captain America."

_Damn, the name didn't sound so bad when Clint was the one saying it._

James jogged across the field to move the target. Feeling a little ridiculous, but deciding he could do this without being a complete idiot, James held the target and moved closer to Clint. When it was two metres away, he set it down with a proud grin.

Clint laughed incredulously. "If I don't hit this, I'll be the laughing stock of the archery groups for the rest of time. In a hundred years, their great-great-grandchildren will still be laughing at me."

James shrugged. "Then don't miss."

Clint looked at him and, without looking, notched an arrow and fired in the same breath. The bell rung clearly as he hit a bullseye. "Looks like you lost, James," Clint said, grinning.

"Feels like a win to me," James said, grinning right back at him.

By the time Nat returned with their food, James and Clint were making out and had scarred several SHIELD agents for life.

...

The end; thanks for reading!


End file.
